Broken
by Permanent Rose
Summary: /You've fixed countless hearts, but you do not even know where to begin to mend yours/


_A/N: I apologize in advance for any botched medical terminology. I wanted to make this as realistic as possible, but I am no heart surgeon. I hope you enjoy :)_

* * *

><p><em>Only the best, Erica. Only the best. <em>

Your mother's mantra still echoes in your mind as you carefully place the heart into the open cavity, your own heart pounding furiously in your chest as the monitor beside you emits a continuous tone.

The fragility yet perfection of the human body never ceases to amaze you, and as you gently massage the heart, coaxing the precious gift of life into the vessel, you're gripped with inevitable fear as you hover between this moment of life and death.

Your fear is never apparent beyond the overwhelming trill you feel in your chest. Stoic face; calm, even breaths that reverberate off your stiff surgical mask.

_The best, _you repeat. _The best. _

The heart takes its first hesitant beat.

_You are the best._

Even though you know you are not.

XXXX

"...trouble recognizing letters...other kids are beginning to learn to read already..."

You stand as close to the door frame as you can without being seen, straining to hear the conversation. Your mother's heels click on the linoleum floor. You know it is your mother, because Miss Halley never wears anything except her dull brown clogs. You can picture the glossy black pumps with every tap, and you bite your lip, fighting to block out the noise.

"Are you sure?" your mother's concern is laced with impatience. "Erica is quite intelligent—I can assure you that...I just don't understand why she would be struggling." You can imagine her pursing her ruby lips. You shift, inching closer to the door.

"Mrs. Hahn, I have no doubt that your daughter is very smart, but since she is struggling with her letters, and it's rare I can get her to speak, I just can't help but to be concerned. Is everything at home okay?"

"Everything at home is perfectly fine," your mother snaps, and you can see her brushing her blonde hair back indignantly, her head held high. "And you have no right to accuse our family of _anything. _Erica is a bright and happy little girl, and if you're so worried about her, perhaps _you _should start doing your job."

Her heels click until she reaches the door, and you scuttle quickly away from the entrance.

"Come on, Erica. We're going home." Your mother grabs your hand tightly, her rings digging into your hand as she strides out of the classroom. You struggle to keep up, your mary janes thudding dully among the sharp clang of her heels.

XXXX

"I'm sorry, Momma," you whisper softly as you buckle up in the back seat.

Your mother lets out a sigh as she steps on the gas, leaving the school parking lot. "It's okay, sweetheart. We'll figure everything out. I have to get back to the firm, but we'll talk about it later this evening, okay?" She smiles at you in the rearview mirror. "You're the best, Erica. Always remember that."

XXXX

"Erica!" your mother lets out an exasperated sigh, running her fingers through her curled hair. You bite your lip, trying not to cry as you squint at the page, trying in vain to make out the letters you know you should be able to recognize. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she quickly amends. "It's just—why don't we try again? Follow my finger, and we'll sound the words out..."

You squint again, trying to imagine the the black blur you see is actually a string of familiar words. You want nothing more than to please her, nothing more than to live up to the words she ingrains in your mind each day.

You rub your temples, the words swimming in your line of vision. "My head hurts, Momma. Can I be done?" you whisper, feeling like a failure as the words escape your lips.

"Erica, you know what I say about giving up. You're not going to get anywhere if you stop now."

But she finally relents when you start to cry.

XXXX

"Erica, how can you possibly have a headache? We haven't even started reading yet," you mother looks exasperated as you sob.

"I can't do it, Momma. I just can't...I can't."

You head is pounding furiously, and it only gets worse when you try to focus on those tiny little words. You don't care about being the best any longer. She's already stolen that title, and you know that, no matter how hard you try.

She purses her lips, pulling her reading glasses away from her face. You expect another lecture that will only make you want to sink deep into the carpet. But as she opens her mouth, she glances curiously at the glasses in her grasp.

"Perhaps...perhaps we've just been approaching this from the wrong angle all along..."

You hold your breath, your tears drying against your cheeks as you wait for her to explain.

XXXX

You read all the letters on the signs on the way home from the eye doctor, your cheeks flushed with excitement as the once blurry shapes finally become legible. Your clouded vision has already become a faint memory as you take in a world you never knew existed.

You let out a yelp as you pass a stretch of trees, pointing with excitement. "What is it, Erica?" Your mother sounds worried, glancing back at you briefly as you wiggle beneath your seat belt.

"Leaves, Momma! _Leaves_!" you exclaim, the trees suddenly not looking much like trees anymore as you notice each individual leaf that covers the vast branches. You cannot fathom how they have always been there, disguised a blurry blobs behind your poor vision.

You hop out of the car, bouncing with excitement as you run around the front lawn, bending down to admire each blade of grass. You turn your face toward the trees, watching each intricate leaf sway in the breeze.

Hours later, you still have not come inside. You're lying out on the back porch, counting the cracks in the old wood of the ceiling. Distantly, you hear your mother calling you in for dinner.

You let out a sigh, turning your head as you see your cat sleeping soundly beside you. You reach out to touch his soft fur, marveling as you take in each individual strand of hair. His chest rises and falls beneath your hand. The world around you vibrates with life, and your itching to explore the potential of each detail you discover.

Perhaps you can be the best after all.

XXXX

_Walk straight home. No exceptions. _

_Make sure the front door is locked behind you. _

_Never open the door for anyone. No exceptions. _

_When you answer the phone, never let them know you are home alone. _

_Stay in the house at all times. _

You repeat the rules to yourself over and over just as you do everyday, reaching for the key tucked snuggly in your jumper pocket. You remove your knitted mitten, opening the front door, slipping inside and promptly locking it.

You know and your mother both know that a seven-year-old girl should not be left home alone, but with your parents divorce six months ago, and your mother's work schedule unable to accommodate daycare arrangements, you hardly have a choice.

You don't mind. You thrive on independence and solitude. In fact, you've begun to crave it. You eagerly kick off your shoes and dump your bag by the front door, scurrying into the kitchen to retrieve a jar of peanut butter and a spoon. You arrange yourself among a pile of throw pillows scattered along the living room floor, paging through the third volume of Encyclopedia Britannica, absentmindedly taking a spoonful of the creamy spread.

You've read every single book in the house, so you've resorted to the encyclopedias for a source of entertainment. You hardly find them boring, and you quickly absorb each new piece of information you devour.

You flip to your favorite section, an article detailing the human heart. You pore over the diagrams, placing your hand against your own chest, trying to imagine the intricate organ pumping inside your own chest.

Every part of the heart fascinates you. You marvel at how this vital organ, so purely medical and scientific, can also be viewed in such a figurative sense. You have read every single one of your mother's romance novels, and you try to grasp how this neatly labeled image on the page in front of you can also be the source of pure love and brokenness.

XXXX

"Looking for a study partner?"

You glance up from your books, slightly startled as you look up to see a thin, black boy hovering over you. You can tell he's a little drunk; you've never been one for partying or even group gatherings for that matter. Though boards aren't for another two months, you've already begun to study vigorously.

You quickly match his easy smile, smirking as you speak. "Oh, like you need a partner, Preston." _Everybody knows you're the best, _you automatically add, though you don't dare speak it out loud.

He pulls up a chair nevertheless, picking up one of your notebooks.

"Don't you have a posse of swooning girls waiting for you, Preston?" you pretend to be annoyed, but instead your fluttering heart betrays your true feelings.

"Academics first, Hahn. Academics first. I shouldn't have to explain that to you," he winks, settling back into the chair as he continues to flip through your notebook.

Of course he only sees you on a purely academic level. You pretend not to mind.

"Ah, the heart," Preston murmurs, settling on a page, running a long finger carefully down the page.

"Can't be picking a specialty yet," you warn him with a smile, your eyes darting from your text book to his face. You suddenly wish you'd worn your contacts tonight.

"Speak for yourself. You don't seem all too disinterested in the heart either, Erica." He raises an eyebrow, placing your notebook on the table, studying a meticulously drawn diagram.

You search for a retort. But all you can focus on is that he called you Erica instead of Hahn.

"It's getting late," you mutter instead. "I should be heading back home."

"I'll walk you back," he offers with yet another charming smile. You consider it a small miracle that you don't drop all your books as you place them back in your bag with shaking hands.

The walk back from the library to your apartment is silent. You curse yourself for being unable to think of anything to say, but you have never been very personable, and making friends is not your forte. Your type of company is a good book and a myriad of new information to absorb. A childhood of solitude has left you struggling in the social realm.

"Goodnight, Erica," he tells you pleasantly. He tugs playfully at one of your blonde curls. You lick your lips, your eyes instinctively darting toward his own full lips.

His breath smells strongly of beer, but you hardly notice as he inclines his head toward yours, consciously aware of your heart bursting in your chest.

XXXX

You groan as you sit up in bed the next morning, sunlight beaming through your open blinds; closing them last night was the last thing on your mind. You wrap a sheet loosely around your naked body as you rise from the bed, hissing as you poke your head down the hall.

"Preston!"

No answer.

Lisa, one of your roommates, snores loudly in the neighboring room. In the kitchen, you can hear Natasha humming softly as she makes coffee.

You retreat back to your room, falling back against the bed as the events from last night replay in your mind.

_He must have an early class this morning, _you assure yourself, trying not to take his absence personally.

You reach for your bathrobe, trying it around your naked body. You smile pleasantly at Natasha as you head for the bathroom, pretending nothing has happened at all.

XXXX

You juggle a bag of chips, a six pack of beer, and your bulging bag of books as you struggle to knock on the apartment door.

"One minute," you hear his muffled voice from the other side of the door, and you can't help but to smile.

You're wearing your contacts and one of your best shirts, and you've taken the time to curl your blonde hair. You feel slightly foolish, but as you recall last night, it gives you a rush of confidence. It makes you matter, and you feel a surge of happiness that your worth is not feigned for once.

The door clicks open a moment later, and just his presence takes your breath away. You can feel your heart palpitating in your chest once again.

"Erica." He looks startled, and slightly confused to see you. "What, um...what can I do for you?" he seems more nervous than necessary, and it makes you slightly uneasy as well, but you've trained yourself not to show it.

"Still looking for a study partner?" You try not to sound to eager, but you're bursting to feel his hands on your bare skin once again.

"Well, um, I'm not sure if now is a good time, Eri-" He's cut off by the sharp click of heels against the floor, each clang a stake in your heart.

"Is everything okay, Preston?"

You glance over his shoulder to see an attractive girl; dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin. She's thinner than you, prettier than you, and most certainly not showing up at an attractive man's doorstep desperate for attention.

You raise an eyebrow, biting down hard on your lip as you fight to stay composed. "I'll—I'll just be going now," you choke out, shifting the load in your arms as you turn sharply away from the door.

"Wait...Erica. Just—can you let me—Erica!" he calls after you.

You stop, wheeling around to face him with a hard expression on your face. "Hahn. It's Hahn to you, Preston."

Pursing your lips, you descend down the stairs before he can utter another word.

XXXX

He graduates first in your class.

_The best, the best, the best. You're the best, _you repeat with clenched teeth.

Because this string of useless words is all you have left.

XXXX

You've been an intern at Seattle Presbyterian for barely two weeks when you are asked to scrub in on your first cardiothoracic surgery. It's a mitral valve replacement, a surgery you've read up on extensively and performed on cadavers, but the thrill you feel as you stare into the the open cavity, the whirl of machinery and the precision of the surgeons buzzing around you is incomparable to anything you've experienced before.

You're here only to observe, but you feel privileged as you watch the head of cardio, Dr. Concetta Ricci, perform the procedure with finesse. Beside her a very pregnant resident holds the clamp. By the look of her bulging belly, you can guess she should've scaled back on her hours weeks ago, but surgery is a high commitment profession, and cardiothoracics is one of the most competitive.

Your eyes dart from the open cavity to Concetta Ricci's face. Wisps of dark, curly hair poke from beneath her maroon scrub cap. Her large, intense eyes focus on her work, barely blinking. You can imagine her full lips pursed beneath her mark, perhaps her perfect teeth biting on her lower lip in concentration.

Without warning, the monitor blares a continuous tone. In less than a second, your eyes tear away from Dr. Ricci's face, seeing that the resident has fallen to the ground. As the scrub nurses rush to her aid, and Dr. Ricci barks orders for a crash cart, you swiftly move to the other side of the table, grabbing the the clamp before Dr. Ricci has time to react. You navigate through the bloody cavity, instinct taking over as you grip the clamp tightly. Dr. Ricci revives the patient, and you wait with your breath held until he is stable.

A relieved silence overwhelms the OR as the monitor begins to beep steadily.

"You just saved that man's life, Dr. Hahn," Dr. Ricci tells you.

You keep you hand steady, nodding appreciatively at Dr. Ricci for her praise. But inside you're beaming.

When Dr. Ricci completes the replacement, she turns to you, speaking matter-of-factly. "I do believe you've earned the privilege of closing him up, Dr. Hahn."

XXXX

"Good morning, Dr. Ricci." You find the Italian doctor by the nurses station the next morning. You're basking in pride, and you cannot wipe the smile off your face as you greet her.

"Oh, good morning, Dr. Hahn," she smiles in return, glancing at you over her glasses with her large brown eyes.

You lick your lips, fighting to regain your train of thought, a little angry at yourself for letting her fluster you so easily. "I see you have a heart transplant scheduled in an hour."

She takes her glasses off, tucking them into the pocket of her scrubs. "That I do. And I'm sure Dr. Anderson is going to be thrilled when you go tell him he's going to scrub in for me."

"I..." you can't formulate a proper thought for a minute. "Curtis Anderson? Are you serious? He nearly botched an appendectomy the other day."

"Which is why I'd like to give him the opportunity to view this procedure. He obviously has a lot to learn." She hands you the patient's chart, looking slightly impatient.

"Not to be disrespectful, Dr. Ricci, but are you sure that's the best idea? After yesterday, I expected-" you cut yourself short, fighting to maintain the mature, cold exterior you've worked to build up as a surgeon.

Dr. Ricci crosses her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow as she prods you. "No, go on Dr. Hahn. What did you expect?"

"I _thought,_" you emphasize, "that after my performance yesterday that I could be on your service. Curtis is hardly interested in cardiothoracics, and while I respect your desire to teach him, why not teach me instead, the one who has extensive knowledge and interest in cardio?" You hold your head high, making sure that your voice does not inflect with any emotion.

"Erica Hahn, you show great potential as a cardiothoracic surgeon; you proved that yesterday. But I want you to be more than a great cardiothoracic surgeon. I want you to be a great surgeon, and to do that, you're going to need to know much more than just the heart."

You swallow, nodding respectfully, though a prideful anger still flares in your chest.

"Please take that chart to Dr. Anderson, and when you're done, report to orthopedics. I've already informed Dr. Keay you're going to be on his service today."

XXXX

It's been almost two months since you've seen the inside of a cardio OR, and though you're quickly mastering everything from neurological procedures to general surgeries, you can't help but to feel bitter every time you hear a fellow intern gush about scrubbing in with Dr. Ricci.

You sip your coffee listlessly as you stare at the OR board, wondering why you continue to torture yourself.

"Dr. Hahn." You're initially startled, because in the past eight weeks Dr. Ricci has not given you so much as a sideways glance, but your shock immediately turns to anger. You're quick to suppress it; you will not let this woman have satisfaction in her actions.

You nod respectfully, but you keep your lips pursed.

She erases Dr. Corin's name and his breast enhancement surgery from the OR one slot, scribbling in her own name and a heterotopic transplant instead. You eyes widen hungrily as you recognize the rare surgery.

"Dr. Hahn, please explain this procedure," Dr. Ricci states, turning to face you.

"A heterotopic transplant, more commonly referred to as a 'piggyback' transplant, is accomplished by leaving the recipient's heart in place and connecting the donor heart to the right side of the chest," you easily pull the information from your mind.

"Very good, Dr. Hahn," she praises you, and your anger continues to rise because you know she's taunting you. "Why don't you go prep the patient so you can scrub in with me?"

You're so eager to jump on the opportunity. You've been waiting for this moment for ages now, but with an uninterested expression, you force the words from your lips. "I'm sorry, Dr. Ricci, but I already agreed to scrub in on a hemorrhoidectomy with Dr. Palanisamy this morning. Maybe another time."

You quickly walk away from the board without a backward glance before you can truly regret your words.

XXXX

You tug your scrub cap off your head as you sit down in the waiting room, trying not to think of the piggyback surgery that's taking place right now. But you keep your resolve, praising yourself for the way you handled the situation this morning, no matter how much it hurts.

"How'd the hemorrhoidectomy go?" Dr. Ricci sits down across from you, surprising you for the second time today.

"I thought you were in surgery," you mutter, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"An emergency surgery came in and backed up us, but we're ready to go now if you'd like to scrub in." She leaves you with a small smile. "OR one," she reminds you.

When she's out of sight, you grin like a fool. Because it's highly improbable that this "emergency surgery" took less than half an hour, so you know she postponed the surgery just for you.

XXXX

Concetta Ricci is anything but easy on you in the following year. You have to work for your surgeries, and even when you put yourself through hell to get there, she often denies you. She will not make a soft or inexperienced surgeon out of you, and though you leave work some nights ready to cry and scream, you know someday you'll thank her for it.

You admire every aspect about her—her confidence as both a surgeon and woman, her success, her beauty, her femininity yet hardness. When you're with her, she makes you feel like you have the potential to truly be the best.

XXXX

The night you pass your intern exam, she takes you out for a drink at a local bar, and your mind is teeming with the possibilities represented by this simple invitation.

"Dr. Ricci," you greet her as you sit beside her, feeling slightly awkward as you both interact as two normal people rather than surgeons. She's wearing a maroon dress, the same color as her scrub cap, and a compliment leaves your lips before you can rein it in. "That color looks great on you."

"Thank you, Erica," she tells your, her face flushing slightly, her rosy cheeks making her even more stunning. "And please, call me Concetta. We're not in the OR."

It's your turn to blush, and a warm feeling settles in your stomach as you order your drink.

"Congrats on passing your exam," she tells you as she sips her gin and tonic while your taste your tequila. "Not that I ever expected you wouldn't, but expected achievements deserve to be praised nevertheless."

"Thank you, Dr. R—Concetta," you correct yourself, liking the way her name slips off your tongue. "Thank you."

"Though I did want to take you for a congratulatory drink, that's not the reason I brought you here, Erica."

You place your drink down on the counter, sensing a foreboding tone in her voice.

"I'm leaving, Erica," she tells you flatly, not bothering to sugarcoat it. The warm feeling in your stomach turns into a knot. "I've gotten an offer from the Cleveland Clinic, and my fiancé has already found a job there. Today was my last day."

You sit in stunned silence, starting at your drink. Your fingers curl around your glass. You didn't even know she was engaged.

You find her eyes, a pleading look in your own, not exactly sure what you are begging her for. "Erica, I know I sprung this on you fast, but I didn't want to cause you any anxiety before it was necessary. And I have no doubt that Chief Dawson will find an excellent replacement for me."

She rises from her chair, leaving her empty glass behind. She touches your shoulder gently, and you're doing everything in your power not to cry. Though you're certain the new head of cardio will be highly capable, you know you don't want anyone except her. You find her warm brown eyes, your chest aching as you try to hold on even though she is already gone. You know now all the anger and hatred you directed toward her was never truly meant for her. It was always frustration in yourself.

"You have such a bright future ahead of you, and I am truly sorry I won't be here to see it," she sighs, and you tear your eyes away, forcing yourself to let go.

"I know you're going to be a great surgeon."

XXXX

Ten years later you're living in the same apartment, though it feels just as homey as it did they day you carted your boxes in. Dr. Meyer is still hanging onto head of cardio by a thread, his prestige and age the only factors in his favor. You're younger and more versatile, perfecting your already skillful techniques with each procedure. You're itching for the day he announces his retirement, and you will finally have this long sought position at your finger tips.

You've dated sporadically in the past ten years, but nothing serious. You can't remember ever having a relationship that lasted for more than two weeks, and at thirty-eight years old, that is somewhat depressing even to you.

But you have your job to fill the void. Your strive for excellence keeps you satisfied enough too ever feel too much alone.

XXXX

Stepping into Seattle Grace as the new head of cardio—and to replace Preston Burke, no less—has you feeling surreal.

You're slightly intimidated because its been almost twelve years since you've been in the 'new kid' position, and though you hardly had any close friends at Seattle Presbyterian, you did have alliances and familiarity, and it frightens you to have to start from scratch again.

You can tell how close the staff of the surgical wing of the hospital is almost immediately, intertwined with relationships and drama, and you're quite certain that even if you took the energy to try, breaking into their tight knit group would be almost impossible.

You're cold and professional, and harsh with interns, residents, and attendings alike. Because its easier to pretend you don't want friends than to admit that you are not capable of forming the bonds.

XXXX

"Alright ladies, I'll go grab drinks for us," Mark Sloan, head of plastics, shoots you a charming smile as you choose a table at Joe's. You fight to roll your eyes as you settle in your seat next to Calliope Torres. Though you're fairly certain Mark Sloan chasing you around like a horny teenager and Callie following closely behind Mark in whatever twisted relationship they share hardly counts as a friendship, you are oddly grateful for the company.

"You know he's never gonna let you live this down, asking him out for a drink," Callie raises an eyebrow as she runs a hand through her thick black hair, looking tired beneath her smile. "Might as well just give up your resolve now."

This time you really do roll your eyes. "Mark's used to getting what he wants, so I'm just giving him a healthy dose of rejection."

Callie laughs; it's a warm, sweet laugh, and you find yourself grinning as well. Mark returns with beers for all you a moment later. He flashes you a charming smile, and you let out an irritated sigh, swinging your legs so you're facing Callie instead of him. Callie bursts into another fit of giggles, and you're quick to join her.

"What?" Mark looks at the pair of you, crossing his arms defensively across his chest. "Torres, what did she say about me?"

Callie only laughs harder, almost knocking her beer over in the process. Just one glance at Callie has you breaking into laughter once again, though you're not even sure what's so funny anymore.

Mark huffs in an irritated manner, and Callie catches your gaze once again. "Up for a game of darts?"

You're taken back for a moment, but you break out into a grin once again as you nod. The two of you rise from the table, leaving Mark with an exasperated expression on his face. Callie hands you a handful of darts. "I'll let you go first but just to give you a little advantage. No one beats Calliope Torres," she winks as you step into place.

"Oh, Torres, you're on," you feel your competitive steak surface, but for once its not accompanied by insecurity, just a healthy burst of enjoyment.

Callie grins at you as she takes a large swig of beer. You don't know what it is, or if its even something close to qualifying as friendship, but there's definitely something there.

XXXX

"God, I am so tired," Callie moans as she slips into the passenger seat of your car. You've been spending time with Callie for a few weeks now, and you find you're falling into a friendship much more easily that you would've ever expected. Last night, you migrated from Joe's to a club downtown when the crowd got thin, and you're surprised how quickly the hours passed, dancing and talking with a girl you hardly gave a second thought to just a few weeks ago. You wonder why you've rejected the idea of friendship for so long, and you find yourself craving this relationship more and more.

"Well, seeing as we have to be at work in less than an hour, I'd say getting some coffee and heading over to the hospital is our best bet," you smooth your dress as you settle into the driver's seat.

She groans again, scooting closer to you and letting her head fall against your shoulder. There's are undeniable butterflies in your stomach. "Jus' ten minutes," she mutters, letting out a sigh.

'Fine, ten minutes," you whisper softly, brushing her dark hair away from her forehead. But as you shift beneath her, feeling her snuggle closer, you can't help but to wish you could stay here longer.

XXXX

"Wanna spend the night?" Callie asks you as she glances at the clock. You're all cozy in her arm chair, and you wonder when she's going to stop catching you off guard.

"Are you sur—I mean, I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience—and Yang..." you stumble over your words, not quite sure how to accept the offer.

"Cristina passed out ages ago. She barely bothers to come home unless it's to sleep. Come on, it will be just like a good old fashioned high school sleepover. We're already laughing and gossiping, so we just need to throw in a good chick flick to fall asleep to. You can borrow some pjs and we can have a pillow fight in my bed."

You swallow, raising an eyebrow. _Her bed. _

"Alright, I'm kidding about the last part. But what do you say? We can even do some sunrise yoga before we go to work tomorrow." She pauses for a moment, and gaging your reaction. "Come on, Erica. Please?"

"Alright, alright," you agree, finding her adorable and endearing as she hurries off to her bed room to find you some pajamas. You grin involuntarily, deciding just how much you love having a best friend.

XXXX

Callie has been distant lately, and you're trying to pinpoint exactly when it happened. She's hanging out with Mark more and more, rather jumping on the chance to trash talk him with you. She's visibly nervous and jumpy when she talks to you, and you have to wonder if it was something you've said or done.

You've never had a best friend before, but you do know that the way you've begun to look at her, they feelings you've developed for her, easily surpass that of a mere friendship. You wrack your brain for instances where you might have let it slip, trying to figure out where you went wrong.

When you realize she's sleeping with Mark, you let it affect you much more than it should. And when you confront her about about it, admitting for the first time that it's hard for you to make friends, a plea for her not to abandon you, you're certain you've completely pushed her away. Opening yourself in a friendship—or in any sort of relationship, for that matter—is something foreign to you. And you don't know how to mend it if it's something you've broken.

You're at Joe's alone later that night, still feeling bitter about Callie being too busy with her "thing" named Mark Sloan, when you feel a tap on your should. You're surprised to see her, and you put up an emotionless front immediately, unwilling to let her cut past it again.

But when you end up almost crying with laughter over the fact that Addison Montgomery thinks you're lesbians, you feel scared for a moment, with a hint of thrill, but mostly you're just glad to have your friend back.

XXXX

_Bold and cold. _

It's the one piece of advice you can remember your father telling you. It was during one of your weekend visits to his apartment across the state, a rarity because both he and your mother were always too busy to ship you off to your father's every weekend as originally planned.

You were reading the dictionary while he flicked through television stations with a brandy in his hand. "Bold and cold, Erica," he had muttered, vaguely catching your interest. "It's the key you'll need to pull ahead in anything in your life. The key to success. Don't regret your actions, and don't let your emotions get in the way. When you let yourself slip, you start compromising yourself."

As you strut from the elevator, the taste of strawberry from Callie's lips to clinging to yours, you have no doubt the you have fulfilled the bold part of the simple phrase. But the warm feeling in your belly let's you know you're quickly spiraling into the dangerous zone of compromising.

You step into the bathroom, watching your reflection in the mirror as you wait for the color to drain from your cheeks, reminding yourself it was all to go along with Callie's threesome jokes—all to get under Mark Sloan's skin.

It's all been a big joke, playing up the lesbian behavior ever since Callie confronted you in the bar. Just a joke. She's merely your best friend.

But the taste of strawberry still lingers on your lips, and you know you're kidding yourself.

XXXX

It's not Cristina Yang you're mad at, no matter how harsh you were with her today. You're frustrated and confused about what you're feeling for Callie, and the fact that you have no idea who to handle it aggravates you more.

You're looking for your keys, irritated from the lecture the chief just gave you, when she comes up behind you. "Hey. I wanted to see if you wanted to grab a drink."

"I can't find my keys." You can't seem to find anything in your life right now.

"Maybe we could, um...I have something I want to talk to you about," she sighs.

"I had the damn keys, this morning I put them in this bag, and I can't remember..." you rake your fingers through your hair. You used to be on top of everything. You didn't have too eager residents to babysit. You didn't wake up in the morning scared or confused because you were falling in love. You used to know how to keep a leash on your emotions, but now you're slowly beginning to fall apart. You should've listened to your father's advice after all. "This whole thing with Yang has got me so messed up..." you use the convenient excuse.

"Erica."

"What?" you snap, feeling tears of frustration brim in your eyes.

"I'm saying something," she tells you, defending herself. You immediately feel guilty for being so short with her. She's the one person in your life you care about hurting. You blink once, taking in a breath, letting the keys and your frustration slowly melt away. "I just—I wanted to say-" she flounders for the right words the same way you're struggling in your own confusion. "I just wanted to say..." he words are lost as she steps toward you, cupping your cheeks as she brings her lips to yours.

You quiver from the unexpected touch, but your eyes naturally close as you fall into the kiss. It's unchartered territory for the both of you, and you're both slightly tense as you gage the other's reaction. Hesitant pecks at first that you both pull away from as you search for the other's eyes, making sure that this is okay.

It's okay.

It's more than okay, and as you reach to cup Callie's cheeks and cover her mouth with yours, you realize that perhaps everything is right in your life after all.

XXXX

"The chief lectured me this afternoon on my inability to teach," you sigh, curled up against Callie in the back seat of your car—it turns out your keys were in your coat pocket all along. You've been making out with her for the past half hour, neither of you ready to leave and face what this means alone.

"You're a fantastic surgeon, Erica," she mutters, kissing your left eyelid gently. "Just think about how much more amazing you'll be when you're sharing the knowledge with others. Teaching doesn't have to be a nuisance or a weakness—it can be a gift."

You smile, snuggling up against her, searching for her lips once again.

XXXX

Everything is so new for both of you. In a way you're grateful that you're exploring the unfamiliar turf together, feeling a little less alone through the awkward conversations or the startled feelings or the hesitant touching, but at the same time, you wouldn't mind one of you having more experience so one of you could take charge, to help the other wade through the blind spots.

You're ready to push, but you're scared of pushing too hard. Callie is the best thing that has ever happened to you, and you're not about to lose her. Still, you break small boundaries everyday, being the confident one in the relationship as you've done with so many other pieces of you life.

You're the one to ask her on your first date. You're the one who encourages her each step of the way the first time you spend the night. While Callie continues to have her unsure moments, you're ready to surge forward. Your fear has dissipated, and you wake up each morning ready to conquer the world.

For the first time, you are truly in love.

XXXX

"Erica—Erica!" Callie laughs as you push her up against the wall of the x-ray room. She smoothes your hair back, dodging an eager kiss. "As much as I'd love to disappear into an on-call room with you right now, I have to be in surgery in ten minutes."

"Oh, surgery. What's the big deal?" you wink, kissing her neck softly. You used to think the shenanigans at this hospital were deplorable, professional colleagues dragging each other into on call rooms every free second. But now you laugh at how badly you want to let the surgical world melt away if only for one short hour and make love to this beautiful woman like you're horny teenagers.

"Erica," she moans, trembling slightly as your hand slip into the waist band of her scrubs. "Erica! Later, I promise, babe. I promise, I promise."

You're left staring at x-rays of a badly shattered tibia, trying to bite in a smile.

XXXX

You hover over her in the bed, bending down to kiss the corner of her mouth. She's already out of her pants, and she's tugging at your shirt.

She takes a shuddering breath, and you find her eyes and gently sweep her hair away from her face. You know she still gets scared. You know she still isn't sure this is what she wants. You get scared too, but for the opposite reason. You want this so badly, and you're scared to ruin it for her.

"You're beautiful," you tell her. Her breath begins to even out as as she blushes. You stroke her cheek gently, letting her know you don't expect anything from her.

This time, she pulls your shirt over your head, her movements more confident as you allow her to take it at her own pace. She kisses your neck down to your bare collar bone. "You're beautiful, too."

You let out a breathy sigh, your body tingling with pleasure as you reach down toward her panties. You're delighted when she doesn't flinch, letting your fingers explore.

You want to tell her how much you love her, but you're still too scared for that. You're too scared, but you hold onto the hope that someday it will be all you ever tell her.

XXXX

She lends you a shirt for the night. She's exhausted, a thin sheen of sweat covering her brow as she curls up against the pillow. You kiss her forehead gently, watching her smile. You rest your head on your hand, you elbow propped up against the pillow. You gently stroke her hair, the motion becoming methodical as it lulls her to sleep.

You finally curl up behind her as you let your own eyes close, thinking about leaves.

XXXX

You're left crying in bed the next morning after Callie slowly leaves the room.

_There's a reason you were never in a relationship for more than two weeks, Erica, _you scold yourself. _There's a reason. _

You were excited to open up to her. Everything has been so perfect for you, so you cannot imagine how it has not been for her. You search for that cold, emotionless girl, ready to resurrect her, but you aren't sure where to find her anymore.

XXXX

You wonder if being in a relationship with any girl is this wearing, or if it's just Callie and her continual lack of confidence in the whole idea.

You're constantly worrying about her sneaking off with Mark Sloan to get something better, even when your relationship falls back into a more comfortable pace. You want to be just what she wants—you want to be the only thing she wants.

You want to be what's best for Callie.

XXXX

You lock yourself in an on-call room after your explosion with the chief, muffling your sobs into one of the pillows on the bunks.

_She cut his LVAD wires, _you repeat to yourself. _She cut his fucking LVAD wires. _

Today you've been made to look like a fool. This very hospital is mocking you, and even if you were to obtain justice, that wouldn't go away.

You feel alone as you fall back against the bed, your tears soaking the pillow. Never in your life have you felt so frightened to be alone.

XXXX

You don't think you've ever cried this much in one day, but you can't even manage to pull out of the parking lot before another bout of tears spill profusely from your eyes.

All in one day, you've lost your esteem as a renowned surgeon, the woman you love, and the most painful of all, your best friend. You long for the days you were able to convince yourself you'd someday be the best. You spent years hiding from the world, and now you finally know why.

You have fixed countless hearts. You have replaced ravaged hearts with healthy new ones, you've sewn holes, you've repaired damaged arteries, but you now you're here, left with your own heart mangled, and you have no idea how to even begin to mend it.


End file.
